


Barefoot and Pregnant in the Kitchen

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Body Shaming, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Financial manipulation, Forced Orgasm, Gaslighting, Gender Issues, Gender Roles, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Bondage, Object Insertion, Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23799688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jerry doesn't understand why he keeps crying. His life is so great. He's married to a wonderful man, he's pregnant, they're getting the summer together in a gorgeous house in the woods. If a few things aren't exactly the way he wants them, well, nothing's perfect. And he shouldn't complain. Tom doesn't like it when he complains.
Relationships: OMC/OMC, Pregnant Man/His Controlling and Abusive Husband
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66
Collections: Anonymous, What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside)





	Barefoot and Pregnant in the Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormyDaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyDaze/gifts).



> The emotional manipulation in this story is _heavy_. Please practice self-care and close the tab if it's not working for you.
> 
> There are detailed content warnings in the endnotes.

Jerry didn't know why he was crying. Was it the hormones? He wanted to blame the hormones. It was easier than thinking about how often he'd cried before he got pregnant. 

He hadn't understood it then either. He never cried _about_ anything. He just found himself weeping now and then while he was in the shower, or driving, or getting a pedicure. Tom would touch his arm or his neck and say, "What's wrong, mouse?" And Jerry would never know how to explain. 

Nothing was wrong. He had such a good life. He still couldn't believe he'd gone from scraping together pennies for rice and beans to driving a BMW—that Tom had bought new, with cash—and wearing designer clothes, living in an incredible Midtown penthouse and spending summers in this gorgeous country house that Tom, who was well on his way to starchitect status, had designed himself. His back yard was twenty acres right up against a state park. Why was he standing in a sunlit designer kitchen the size of his entire old apartment, pregnant with a baby he desperately wanted, and sobbing into a monogrammed kitchen towel?

He heard footsteps overhead and hastily scrubbed his face dry. Not that it would matter. Tom could always tell.

Tom came down the stairs and gave him a fond smile. God, the man was gorgeous. Tall and broad-shouldered, tan and strong from playing tennis three times a week with his best friend, Kurt, who had his own summer home just a few miles away. His thick, wavy salt-and-pepper hair always looked perfectly styled even if all he'd done was run a wet comb through it. It made Jerry feel self-conscious. Jerry's curls were perpetually unruly, despite his stylist's best efforts. He'd have been happy to cut them off, but Tom liked his hair long.

"Six-oh-one," Tom said, glancing at the clock over the stove. "Best commute in the world. I still can't believe I talked Dixon into letting me work from home all summer."

Jerry managed a little smile and nodded. He'd been looking forward to spending most of the summer alone up here, getting some painting done and wearing sweatpants instead of putting on nice clothes and doing his hair every day. He'd still have seen Tom on weekends, it would have been fine. But Tom had been so thrilled to surprise him with the news that they'd get to be here together through all of June and July, and Jerry hadn't had the heart to protest.

Tom looked at him, and Jerry flushed, knowing his eyes were red. "Aw, mouse," Tom said, "what's wrong?"

It had seemed like such a cute nickname when they got together and their friends all laughed at them being named Tom and Jerry like the cartoon. Now Jerry found it unexpectedly grating. He blinked back fresh tears. "I don't know," he whispered. "I'm just like this."

"Those hormones are doing a number on you." Tom slid his arms around Jerry and caressed the baby bump under his sky-blue blouse. "You're not letting this get to you, are you? I know it's hard to be putting on weight right now, but once the baby's here, Simón will help you get right back in shape."

To tell the truth, Jerry liked the idea of getting plump and soft. He'd always wanted to be that middle-aged dad with a body made for little kids to climb all over and fall asleep against. Tom was the one who fretted when Jerry put on a pound or two. But it was such a luxury to have a personal trainer and the time to work out with one—he shouldn't complain. "It's fine," he said.

"You don't have to pretend with me," Tom said. "I know you're not feeling great. But the first trimester was the worst, right? I'm sure you'll feel better soon." One hand dipped lower. "They say the second trimester is when your sex drive really comes back, too." Jerry's cock stiffened of its own accord as Tom brushed a hand over it. "Mmm, hey, what's this?"

It was weird how Tom always went right for his cock. Sometimes it almost felt fetishistic. No matter how much Tom reassured him that his body was beautiful just the way it was, Jerry still felt insecure about his size. Male fertiles were supposed to have cute little cocklets. Not that his cock was huge or anything, by virile standards—maybe the size of his largest finger—but that was big enough to draw attention. His parents had decided docking infants was "unnecessary" and "cosmetic," setting him up for an adolescence of being mocked in changing rooms and an adulthood of awkwardness with partners who didn't quite know how to touch him. But Tom was _very_ into his cock and knew almost too well how to touch him. And of course he liked that his husband found his flawed body attractive, but it could be a little distracting.

Tom petted his cock again. Jerry tried to shift away, but Tom's arm tightened around him. "Honey, not right now—the lasagna will burn—"

"You made lasagna again?" Tom sighed. "I told you the other night I was getting tired of it. I bought you all those cookbooks and this beautiful kitchen, and all you make is the same three things." Incongruously, he was still stroking Jerry's cock, his fingertips whispering over the loose cotton palazzos that were as informal as Jerry could get away with when Tom was home.

"I'm—I'm sorry—" Jerry's breath was coming faster, and he couldn't tell whether it was from arousal or anxiety.

"You always say that, but then you never change. It's not a real apology if you don't try to do better." Tom reached past him to turn the oven off. "Forget the lasagna. We'll go out to Meskerem for dinner, and tomorrow you'll make something interesting."

Jerry trembled. He hated wasting food, _hated_ it, Tom _knew_ that. And with his sense of smell still so sensitive, lasagna was one of the few foods he could eat. He usually loved Ethiopian food, but the thought of going to Meskerem with all its intense spices filled him with dread.

Greatly daring, he reached out and turned the oven back on.

"What are you doing," Tom said sharply.

"Y-you can go out if you want," Jerry said. "But I want to eat lasagna."

He felt Tom go tense against his back. "God," he said hoarsely. "Jerry, I—I don't understand. Meskerem has a Michelin star. Do you know how fucking lucky we are to have a place like that in a little nowhere town like Mahonket? You'd rather eat a bunch of gloppy cheese and white carbs than the best food within fifty miles? Are you nuts?" His voice was rising. "I give you so much and you just throw it back in my face—"

"Tom, no, I'm sorry—"

"I got you out of the city for the summer and this is the thanks I get?" Tom was practically yelling in his ear. "You want to go back there and smell the garbage stinking in the heat and make lasagna in your old shithole apartment like you use to do? I saved you!"

"You did, you're right—" Jerry was sobbing, trying to pull away, but Tom wouldn't let him go. "Honey, please—"

"Please what, Jerry? Please _what_? Is this whole marriage just a fucking sham?" Tom grabbed Jerry's cock through his pants. "Is this a lie too? Have you been faking it to seduce me so you could get pregnant and then divorce me for half my money?"

"What? No!" If anything, Jerry wished his body _didn't_ like Tom's so much. He was always half turned on when Tom was around, he couldn't help it, and it made times like this so much worse. "God, no, baby, I love you, I want you, I promise," he babbled. "Please, don't be mad."

"I'm not _mad_ ," Tom snapped. "I'm _hurt_. You really hurt me, Jerry." His fingers tightened and Jerry whimpered. "How am I supposed to believe that you love me when you keep rejecting me this way?"

"Of course I love you," Jerry pleaded. "Please, Tom, that hurts."

"Oh, this, this hurts?" Tom squeezed his cock harder. "You know what hurts, Jerry, is thinking that your husband, the love of your life, seduced you into sex and marriage when he never really cared. Do you know what sex under false pretenses is? It's _rape_."

Jerry felt like he'd been stabbed. "Tom," he gasped. "I would never do that to you, _ever_. You know that."

"Oh, sure, because you're a rape survivor you care so much about consent, how many times have I heard that," Tom sneered. "There's also this little thing called the cycle of abuse, you know. Kurt told me to be on the lookout for that. I told him just what you told me—that you'd never hurt me. But here we are."

Jerry's head spun. Where _were_ they? What was happening? How had making lasagna for dinner turned into him being accused of raping his husband? "I—I don't understand," he stammered.

"Then I'll explain it to you," Tom said, "in small words. You hurt me, really badly. You need to apologize, and you need to earn back my trust."

He finally let go of Jerry and stepped back. Jerry resisted the urge to rub his aching cock. He turned around to face Tom, whose face was pale with fury, and forced himself to look his husband in the eye.

"Tom," he choked out, "I am so, so sorry I hurt you. I'm so sorry. I never meant to..." To what? What had he done? "To make you doubt me," he said uncertainly. Tom nodded, so he went on, "I never meant to make you feel like I didn't desire you or love you or, or want to be married to you. Or to be ungrateful for everything you've done for me."

Tom nodded again, looking a little mollified. "Okay," he said. "It's... I'll be honest, it's going to be hard for me to believe you. But I want to."

"Please believe me." Jerry squeezed his hands together. "I mean it, I swear. I don't know what I can do to show you how much I mean it."

Tom took a deep breath. "This is really scary for me to ask," he said. "But... can we make love? I might have to stop if I start getting too anxious, because I need to know that if I say no, you'll listen to me." Jerry's stomach twisted. He'd said something very similar to Tom when they'd met, back when Jerry was still having nightly flashbacks to being assaulted. Tom really was treating him like a rapist. He'd never imagined anything could feel so devastating. "But if I don't try to get over the fear now," Tom went on earnestly, "I don't see how we can recover from this."

"Whatever you want," Jerry said, desperately. "I promise I'm safe for you, baby, I promise. You can be totally in control."

Tom turned toward the bedroom, then hesitated. "I don't think I want to be in our bed," he said. "It doesn't feel safe." 

Neither did the living room or the guest room (which Jerry was glad about, as he was already thinking of it as the future nursery). He turned toward the den, but Tom shook his head vehemently. "That's my special space," he said. "I can't have you in there right now, not when things are so bad between us."

"Then where?" Jerry said helplessly.

"I guess there's only one room left," Tom said, and he pushed open the door to Jerry's studio.

Jerry felt faint. "Tom—" he began, but he couldn't make himself say the word _no_. He had to say yes right now, yes to anything Tom needed. Tom feeling safe was the most important thing.

He followed Tom into the beautiful little corner room. He'd been floored when Tom added it to the blueprints and showed him sketches of what it would look like. It was an artist's heaven: perfectly square, two walls paneled with golden-warm bamboo, two with big windows looking out at the woods. There was a little deck where he liked to take his easel on sunny days so he wasn't inside breathing turpentine all the time. This time of day the sun was behind the trees, and the windows bled heat, so the room was cool but not too cold.

He left it a little messy sometimes, which was fine; it was his room, wasn't it? No one needed to be able to find anything in here but him. Still, Tom looked around disapprovingly. "You haven't even unpacked yet?" he asked, pointing to the corner where two cardboard boxes were still stacked on a hand truck.

"No, I think I got too excited about bringing things up from the city in case I needed them." Jerry bit his lip. "Tom, I don't see how we can—" Tom rounded on him. Jerry backed away. "Honey, I'm glad to give you whatever you need, but there isn't even a chair in here, so how—"

"I think," Tom said, turning back to survey the room, "I think the stool."

"You—could sit on it?" Jerry tried to picture it. "And I could get on my knees..."

"You'll see," Tom said.

At Tom's direction, Jerry hurried to take his clothes off. Tom kept his on; he said being naked made him feel too vulnerable. Jerry certainly felt vulnerable, shivering slightly and not sure what to do with his hands. Then Tom motioned for him to bend over the stool.

Jerry put a hand to his belly. "The baby—" he began.

"Is that going to be your excuse for everything?" Tom said. "Of course I'm not going to hurt _our_ baby. It's not just _your_ baby, Jerry. Or maybe you're trying to say I won't be a good father, is that it?"

Helplessly, Jerry bent over the wooden stool, trying to rest his chest on it instead of his belly. There was a noise behind him and then Tom knelt next to him and began wrapping a black bungee cord around the legs of the stool, trapping Jerry's wrists and ankles. The cord must have still been on the hand truck, Jerry realized as he struggled to find a way to balance. The stool was wide-legged but light, and if he didn't keep his weight balanced just right, he would fall over. He ended up forced to rest on his stomach, his thighs straining as he fought to keep his torso from pressing down.

"There," Tom said. "Now you can't hurt me."

"I'd never hurt you," Jerry said. He sounded pathetic, his voice more strained than contrite.

"You say that, but I have to be sure," Tom said. He unfastened the button on his black jeans. "But... there is a way you can prove it to me. I'm taking a big risk here, okay?"

"Okay," Jerry said, uncertain.

Tom shoved his pants and underwear down. His cock was hard, and Jerry's sensitive nose drew in its musky scent. "You offered to get on your knees for me," Tom said. "But I like this better—it feels safer, I mean." He brushed the tip of his cock across Jerry's lips. "Can you... be gentle with me? Loving? I want to believe you love me, I really do."

Jerry thought he had only ever been gentle and loving with Tom. "Of course," he said, and before he could say anything else, Tom's cock was all the way in his mouth.

Jerry tried to lick and suck tenderly, always keeping his lips over his teeth, but it was so hard when Tom seemed determined to fuck his face. Soon he was preoccupied by trying to stay balanced on the stool. The cord cut into his wrists and ankles. He choked as Tom pushed into his throat, grabbing his hair to keep his head up. "Why are you fighting me," Tom panted. Jerry tried to make his whole body an apology, relaxing his throat as well as he could. "Yes, that's it," Tom said, "show me you can be a gentle, yielding lover." He drove in deeper, making Jerry gag and drool helplessly as he struggled to keep his footing.

At last Tom tired of this and pulled out, wiping his cock across Jerry's face as Jerry gasped for breath. "That helped," Tom said. "I'm still a little anxious, but it definitely helped."

Jerry coughed and wished he could wipe away the tears that prickled at the corners of his eyes. "I'm glad," he croaked.

"But I just... oh, I don't know," Tom mused as he walked around where Jerry couldn't see. "I just need some way to feel strong, you know? Strong and secure. Like nothing can hurt me ever again."

"S-sure," Jerry said. "I get that." Fear coiled inside him. If fucking his mouth so roughly didn't make Tom feel strong, what would?

Tom ran his hands over Jerry's ass, pulling his cheeks apart and squeezing his thighs. "God, you're so fucking hot," he breathed. "I never would have thought I'd be thrilled to see your hips getting wider, but you just look made to be pregnant. Maybe I'll keep you this way forever, would you like that? One baby after another." 

A day ago, Jerry would have been ecstatic and said that was his dream. Now it was all he could do to whisper, "Yes."

"But that's what you would say, isn't it? I can't believe you tricked me into having sex with you." Tom's tone was more sorrowful than angry.

Jerry jerked his head up. "No, I never—"

"You apologized for it, you can't really walk it back now," Tom chided. "At least try to keep your story straight."

Jerry squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't imagine having apologized for something he knew he didn't do. What had he said to make Tom think that?

"That hurt me so much, Jerry, and it hurts me more that you're trying to deny it now. It makes me really mad, and more than that, I'm just so sad." 

Tom circled his hole with a finger, then reached lower to grab his cock. It had gone limp, but Tom quickly stroked it to hardness. _Traitor_ , Jerry thought at his body. He was bent over awkwardly, trying not to put pressure on the baby, feeling his hands and feet slowly go numb, scared of what Tom would do next—nothing about this situation should be erotic at all. But even after all this, one touch from Tom was enough to turn him on. 

"I can't believe I thought this was hot," Tom said, jerking him roughly. "I tried so hard to make you feel good about yourself. I even let you fuck me up the ass!"

 _Let me? You let me?_ Jerry remembered Tom begging for his cock, sucking it eagerly, saying, "If I didn't like dick, I wouldn't date men." Tom coming explosively from Jerry fucking him, thrilling to the taboo of the role reversal. Tom calling him a delicious mouthful and the best of both worlds. Had he somehow pressured Tom into doing all those things? Was he really that needy and insecure?

Tom dropped Jerry's cock, leaving it to dangle and throb. "Your parents should have gotten you docked. Maybe then you wouldn't be like this. You can't have it both ways, Jerry, you can't tell me you want to fuck me one day and then beg me to put a baby in you the next. It's sick." Without warning, he slapped Jerry's cock. Jerry cried out, the sharp pain lancing through him. "After the baby's born, we'll get this docked properly." He slapped it again, harder, and Jerry wobbled on the stool, fighting to stay upright. "Then I won't have to look at it anymore and remember what you did to me with it. My friends warned me."

Through a haze of pain, Jerry wondered how Tom's friends even knew about this. He never would have dreamed of telling his friends about Tom's anatomy, or what they did in bed.

"Kurt warned me that a fertile with a cock was unnatural and that you would make me do disgusting, perverted things. I should have listened." Tom started jerking his cock again. Jerry shuddered, overwhelmed, undone. "You even like this, don't you? You like it when I tie you up and hurt you."

"No, no, I—"

"Your body doesn't lie, Jer." Tom dipped a finger in the slick gathering in his hole. Jerry couldn't even try to pull away. He felt paralyzed. "You'll get off on anything." Tom rubbed the slick along Jerry's cock, but it wasn't nearly enough. Tom's hand was still dry, his pencil callouses scraping roughly against Jerry's sensitized skin. "And you like it both ways, don't you? You want to fuck and be fucked."

Tom let go of his cock and walked away. Jerry hung his head, panting, desperately aroused and full of dread.

A moment later he heard Tom's footsteps behind him. Then something cold and hard was shoved in his hole. Jerry yelled and involuntarily jerked away. He nearly toppled over, but Tom grabbed him around the waist and kept him upright. "Ooh, you liked that, I thought you would. Sicko." Tom twisted the object and pushed it in further. A sharp edge caught somewhere inside Jerry and he tried to scream but no noise came out. _It's one of my tubes of oil paint,_ he realized with horror as Tom twisted it around again. _He's... fucking me with a tube of paint. Why? What did I do to him to make him do this?_

Tom leaned across Jerry's back, pressing his abdomen down against the stool, and Jerry found his voice again. "Tom, the baby," he begged, "please, don't—"

"The baby, the baby," Tom mocked. "That's all you've been able to talk about. What about me and my needs, Jerry?" He pulled Jerry's cock painfully back beween his legs and started pumping it, taking up a deliberate rhythm that Jerry knew would get him off even as he writhed in pain. "What about my need to have a husband who isn't dangerous to me?" Tom dragged the tube of paint out of Jerry's aching hole and pushed it in again, his other hand keeping up its steady strokes. "What about my need to have a fertile who knows his proper place and isn't a fucking pervert? Look at you, you're such a mess."

"Please," Jerry sobbed. Every part of him hurt. All he wanted was to wrap his arms around his belly and keep his baby safe. "Please."

"Begging for it." Tom scoffed. "I bet you're going to come from this. Needy slut."

"You're making me—"

Tom leaned more of his weight on Jerry's back, working Jerry's cock as he shoved the metal tube of paint in deeper. "Jerry," he said, breathing hard with exertion, "I think you're forgetting who the real victim is here."

Something in Jerry snapped. He drooped limply over the stool, giving in, letting whatever was happening to him happen. 

With effort, Tom dragged an orgasm out of him. "I knew it," Tom said from somewhere far away as Jerry's cock throbbed with a terrible mix of pleasure and pain, his hole clenching helplessly on the intrusion. "You just can't help yourself."

Tom stood up, and there was a wet sound that Jerry knew all too well. Jerry managed to lift and turn his head enough to see Tom standing next to him, slicking up his big virile cock. He was using Jerry's come to do it, Jerry realized. Somehow that was worse than anything else that had happened today, his own body's unwilling pleasure being used as an instrument of further assault. He let his head fall again and braced himself.

The tube of paint was yanked unceremoniously from his hole and tossed aside. He felt slick dribble out of him. Then Tom took hold of his hips and pushed in.

The worst thing was how good it felt. Jerry wept, feeling his heart break, wishing Tom had gone in dry or kept hurting him—anything that would make it feel like rape. But it didn't, except for the part where Jerry couldn't move. It felt like making love with his husband. Tom stroked tenderly in and out, Jerry's come and slick easing his way, and his thumbs rubbed circles on Jerry's waist just the way he liked. 

"Don't you worry about the baby," Tom murmured, rocking his hips. "I'll give you all the babies you could want. Doesn't this feel good, Jerry? This is the way it should be, the virile fucking the fertile. This is so right and good. Your hole feels just right on my cock, my real cock. I'll give you as much of this as you want. I'll teach you to love this more than anything." 

Jerry cried harder, tears running up his face and into the tangled snarl of his hair, choking on his own spit and snot.

"Don't cry, mouse." Tom's voice was so soothing and sweet. "What a hard day it's been, hasn't it? It's so hard to face the truth of what you've become. But I'll help you. I'll help you make amends and put things right between us. You said it right, Jerry—I need to be in control. It's safer for both of us that way."

He shifted his angle a bit and Jerry bit back a cry as the head of Tom's cock rubbed him just the right way. Another orgasm was building inside him. He tried to fight it and failed.

"I feel you squeezing me, so tight." There was a little catch in Tom's voice and his thrusting became more urgent. Jerry prayed Tom would come first and spare him. "I know you're close, mouse. Come on, that's right, give me that tight hole, I want to feel you coming around me, yes, just like that—"

Jerry flung his head back, biting his lip, as his orgasm swept through him. Tom groaned, clutched his hips, and came deep inside him. Jerry wanted it to feel like acid, like poison, but it just felt hot and good, like Tom coming in him always did.

He wobbled, feeling faint, and Tom patted his back. "Poor thing. Let's get you off of there." Gentle hands untied the bungee cord and helped him down to the floor. He curled up around his middle, panting. Every part of him hurt, except his hands and feet, which were swollen and numb.

Tom spooned up behind him and rubbed his belly. "Everything's fine," he said softly. "The baby's fine. I'm not mad anymore."

"I'm sorry," Jerry croaked. He didn't even know what he was sorry for, but he was so very, very sorry. 

"I know, mouse." Tom caressed him. "I believe you. We're going to work on this together. We're going to make it right."

Jerry had thought he must be done crying, but another tear leaked from the corner of his eye. Tom kissed his cheek. "No more crying now, okay? We're having a good moment here. Don't make it all about you."

Jerry nodded, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Tom looked around the studio. "What a beautiful nursery this will be." He gave Jerry's belly another pat. "The baby's going to love it in here. All that light, and the trees."

"B-but." Jerry fumbled for words. He didn't want to upset Tom again, not when things were finally something like okay, but the thought of losing his studio was like being knifed through the heart. Tom had an office and the den. This was Jerry's only refuge—or it had been, until today. "But... I thought... the guest room?"

Tom laughed. "Don't be silly," he said. "We need the guest room so my dad can stay there when he comes to help us with the baby. Think it through, Jerry."

Jerry hadn't even known Tom's father was going to stay with them. "Okay," he said, because what else was there to say.

"I knew you'd understand," Tom said, hugging him. "No sacrifice is too great for our kid."

Sniffling, Jerry nodded. Then he sniffed again. Was that... smoke?

"Something's burning," he said. "Tom, something—" Tom made no move to get up, so Jerry staggered to his feet and hobbled into the hall.

A minute later, Tom, in a clean shirt and looking perfectly calm and put together, came into the kitchen and found Jerry staring at the blackened rectangle that had once been a lasagna. "Well, that settles that," Tom said cheerfully, as though they'd been in the kitchen this whole time talking about what to have for dinner. "Meskerem it is. I'll call ahead and make sure there's a table." He kissed tears off Jerry's cheek. "Mmm, salty. Go get dressed and fix your hair, mouse, you're a mess."

Jerry threw the lasagna in the trash, Le Creuset pan and all, and limped into the bathroom. He got his blouse off and sat on the toilet for a long time, rubbing his tingling hands together and letting the last of Tom's come drip out of him. He rubbed his belly and wondered whether the baby was okay, or whether in a few days he'd be sitting here cramping and squeezing out blood and tissue. The thought of it should devastate him, but he was devastated already, so it just left him numb. Maybe it wouldn't even be so bad. Maybe if he weren't pregnant anymore, he and Tom could go back to the way things were. He'd still have his studio. He wouldn't be so afraid.

He heard Tom on the phone, calling the restaurant. A minute later, his voice came again, louder and more cheerful. "Hey Kurt... good, really good, thanks. You were so right, dude. About Jer.... Yeah, we had a good talk, he understands now. It was rough for a bit, but he gets it.... Hey, thanks, no, I'm okay. We just had to face facts, you know? He couldn't keep treating me like that. But he apologized and I think he really meant it. I still love him a lot. Maybe that's stupid, I don't know, but we've been through so much.... No, I'm sticking it out. He wants to do better. I'll help him. We'll get through. I owe you so much, man. I'd never have understood what was going on until it was too late. We both owe you. You saved our marriage, honestly.... No, I'm serious. Look, we're going out to dinner at Meskerem tonight, do you want to join us? At least let us buy you a drink or something. It's the least we can do.... Cool, we'll be there at 7:30, assuming Jer doesn't take too long getting his face on. You know how he is.... Thanks, man, seriously, so much. Yeah. See you soon. Bye."

Self-loathing welled up from deep inside Jerry. He'd been such an asshole. He'd thought Tom was going to call Kurt and crow about finally having his fertile under his thumb, like some sort of caveman. But instead he'd sounded so humble... so caring. So confident of Jerry and their relationship, even after everything Jerry had done.

(What had he done? He still didn't really understand. Maybe Tom would help him understand.)

_I still love him a lot. Maybe that's stupid, I don't know, but we've been through so much._

Jerry didn't deserve a husband like Tom. He really didn't. But he promised himself he'd try to be worthy of him, somehow.

He flushed the toilet and hauled himself to his feet, wincing. The tingling of blood rushing back into his feet was more like burning now, his cock felt swollen and sore, and his hole clenched painfully with every step. Leaning against the edge of the sink, he washed his trembling hands and began to fix his hair.

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(spoiler space for anyone reading the content warnings)

**Author's Note:**

> Untaggable things in this fic include a rape victim being made to believe he's a rapist, while he's being raped. There's also body shaming around both weight and penis size, a mention of nonconsensual genital modification of infants and adults whose bodies don't conform to what's expected of their sexes, a (possibly intersex) person being told his genital configuration makes him unnatural and a pervert, a pregnant person being assaulted in ways that could harm the baby, and a brief but graphic fantasy of miscarriage.


End file.
